


Gauze, Meds, and Martians

by DrummerGirl231



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Anesthesia, Comedy, Family, Family Fluff, Gen, Hallucinations, Mild Blood, Vomiting, Wisdom Teeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 15:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18741892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrummerGirl231/pseuds/DrummerGirl231
Summary: Scrooge knew if Della had it done first, Donald would only be more nervous when it was his turn. if Donald went first, Della would make it a competition to try and prove she could handle it better than he did. The only logical thing to do: have their wisdom teeth extractions done at the same time.





	Gauze, Meds, and Martians

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before "Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!" aired. I thought there was a period of time Duckworth and Beakley worked together, and that Beakley worked at the house before Donald and Della left. Oh well. 
> 
> A lot of Della's lines came from one of my college roommates who, turns out, reacts very strongly to all pain medication. I'll let you know which lines came from her in the notes at the end.

Scrooge sat in the waiting room for more than an hour and a half before the first doctor came to tell him the surgery went well and it wouldn’t be long before a nurse would bring Della out. The second doctor came just as the first was leaving and said the same of Donald. He thanked each of them before they left. The waiting room seemed even quieter than it had before... so dull even in comparison to a brief conversation. Rather than sit again, he paced a bit to stretch his legs until the door opened once more. Laughter rang out from one of the back rooms as Donald’s surgeon reappeared. 

“It’ll be just a few more minutes… Donald threw up.”

Well, he knew today couldn't go off without a hitch... not with these kids. Still, he'd had Donald follow all the doctor's instructions for what he needed to do and not do before the operation. “He hasnae eaten anything since before bed! I can’t imagine what there’d be to vomit.”

“It probably _was_ from last night. It’d be pretty unusual for a teenager to eat peas and carrots for breakfast.”

Scrooge recoiled slightly with a noise of disgust before the doctor continued. 

“He’ll be fine. A nurse is rinsing out his mouth and checking the stitches, and then he’ll be good to go.”

“And, er… I’m assuming the laughter back there is about something else?”

“Oh, that’s coming from the next room over… your niece must be saying funny things because of the anesthesia.” 

Scrooge expected as much. Della never handled anesthesia gracefully. Even the Novocain she had as a child getting her cavities filled made her extremely loopy. 

“Well this should be a fun day,” he said only half to the doctor.

Scrooge pretended to look out the window until the door opened again and a nurse wheeled out Donald. He was slumped in his chair with his head lolled to the side and his eyes only half open. Just behind the first nurse was a second wheeling out Della, who was also slumped in her chair but looked significantly more alert. Both had puffy faces and gauze sticking out the corners of their bills.

“There ye are! How are ye both?”

“Wai’, _‘bof?’_ Am I gavid?” Della asked, grabbing her stomach. “Ah ca’ be gavid! Ah nebber did da nassy!”

Scrooge tried his best to hold in his laughter and keep a straight face. “‘Never did the nasty?’ Well, that’s good to hear. No, ye’re not gravid. By ‘both,’ I mean you and _Donald.”_

“Donol’s here?!” she squealed.

The first nurse turned Donald’s wheelchair around so Della could see him. 

“DONOL I ‘UV YOU YER DA BETTEST BRUDDER!”

“He’s the bestest brother?” Scrooge tried to clarify. 

“Yeeaahhh…” Della whined. She looked to be on the verge of tears.

Donald's only reply was a groan as he lifted his puffy face.

“Ready te go home, Lad?”

He groaned again and nodded, then gripped the armrests and tried to stand up.

“No no no!” Scrooge grabbed Donald’s arms while his nurse pushed him back in the chair by his shoulders. “You stay put until Duckworth brings the car around.” He was already taking mental notes on their reactions to the anesthesia. Della: confused and affectionate. Donald: nauseated but underestimating how drugged he was. _It'll be like taking care of two drunkards after a bar fight,_ he thought.

The nurses wheeled them out front, and Duckworth, who had been watching from his parking space, started the engine to pull up to the curb. As they waited for him, Scrooge kept his eyes on the teens. Donald was staring at the ground, but Della? She stared at the sky, her eyes growing wider and wider until she reached out her hand.

“MY SKID BREDEREN!”

She’d leaned so far forward that her nurse had to pull her back by the shoulders, too.

“Yer what?” Scrooge asked.

“My squih brederen…” she started to cry.

“Your _squid brethren?”_

Della nodded. “Dere leabing ee behine…”

Both nurses were nearly doubled over with laughter, but trying to keep it silent so as not to upset Della more. Scrooge looked up at the sky, expecting to see birds or balloons or _something_ Della could have mistaken for flying squids, but all he saw were a few clouds.

“Er… no, Della Dear, they’re not leaving you behind. They’re flying back to McDuck Manor, te greet us when we get home.”

“Day ah…?”

“They are. And Mrs. Beakley will have the TV room all set up for you and Donald so you can rest today.”

Duckworth pulled up and Scrooge didn’t wait for him to get out of the car and open the door for them.

“That’s alright, Duckworth, we’ve got it,” Scrooge told his elderly chauffeur after opening the door himself. “Della, you first.”

The nurse who wheeled Della out was already moving the foot plates on her wheelchair out of the way so she could get up.

“Ready to try standing?” the nurse asked, reaching for Della’s arms.

“Wai, where ah you taking ee?” she asked as the nurse hoisted her up. “Unko Skooge I’m bing kinnapt!”

“Ye’re not being kidnapped, ye wee numpty. She’s just helping you inte the car.”

“Uh, dass whah kinnapping _is,”_ Della explained as though Scrooge’s head were filled with rocks. “Don’ leddem take ee!”

Donald tried to say something Scrooge thought sounded vaguely like, “My gosh Della, chill,” but he wasn’t sure.

“Nooo don’ leddem take eeeee!” Della repeated.

“Erm…” Scrooge looked up at the nurse and held out his arms to let her know he could take over, and the nurse gently passed Della to him. “Back, foul villain,” he said half-heartedly to the nurse. “I’ll er… teach you te try an’ kidnap my niece, ye… something or other.” He got Della into the car and buckled her up in the middle of the back seat. 

“Unko Skooge, oo sabed ee.”

“Yes. Yes I did save you. Now stay put while I rescue your brother next.” He climbed back out of the car. 

“Ahtch ou’ for dare lasers!” Della warned Scrooge.

“Sorry about her,” he said to the nurse, who was already working with the other nurse to lift Donald out of his wheelchair.

“Oh don’t worry about it! She’s the most entertaining one we’ve had all week! Patients like her are why I love my job!”

Donald said something else Scrooge didn’t quite catch. 

“What was that?” Scrooge asked.

Donald’s head was still lolling and his eyes were still half-shut, but he pointed into the car and then twirled his finger by the side of his head.

“Oh, your sister’s crazy? Well,” and he dropped his voice, “we already knew that, didn’t we, Laddie?” 

Donald was so wobbly it took a bit of a team effort to get him into the car, but they succeeded. Then Donald’s nurse took two plastic bags that had been hanging off the handles of the wheelchairs and gave them to Scrooge.

“Here’s everything you’ll need to care for their gums, aside from their pain meds,” she said. One of the bags had what looked like a packet sticking out of it. “The packet is all their care instructions and a list of things they can and can’t eat. Don’t let them drink through straws, and stay away from foods that can break into really small bits and get stuck, like rice or ramen noodles.”

“Thank you, both. My household staff and I will give this a proper going over, eh Duckworth?”

“Looking forward to it, Sir,” he replied without enthusiasm. “It’s been ever so long since I’ve read anything enjoyable.”

The nurses gave Scrooge more instructions before heading back inside, and Scrooge climbed into the car and sat opposite Donald in one of the rear-facing seats to be able to keep a close eye on them.

They made a stop at the pharmacy on the way home where Scrooge picked up the twins’ prescription pain medicine, and when he returned and Duckworth opened the car door for him, he saw Della lying across the back seat leaning against her brother and bouncing her leg up and down. 

“What’re you up to?” Scrooge asked her.

“Dere’s jam on mah foot an’ I can’ geddit off!” she complained in a random southern accent. 

Scrooge sidled back to where he’d been sitting before and took a look at her foot. There was nothing on it whatsoever. 

“I think ye got it,” he said as he buckled up. 

Meanwhile, Donald seemed to be putting up with Della very patiently, but upon further examination, Scrooge realized he’d fallen asleep, and a blood-streaked blob of drool was about to fall on Della’s forehead. Scrooge dumped one of the bags of care products onto the seat beside him and held it underneath Donald’s bill, but the bottom of the bag touched Della’s forehead and she began flailing.

“AHHH!!! ‘IDER! Kill ih!”

Donald woke with a start.

“Della! It’s not a spider!” Scrooge had to unbuckle himself and pin down her arms before she could punch Donald in the jaw. “It was just a bag! Sit up. We’re going home.”

He got her sitting up and properly buckled in again, though she still leaned on Donald's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. At least she wasn't panicked and flailing anymore. Now she was just fixated on one of the buttons on her tan denim jacket... picking at it like she wanted to take it off but didn't have the strength or coordination to succeed.

As Duckworth drove on, Donald spotted his favorite fast food place and asked if they could stop there. At least, that’s what Scrooge assumed by Donald mumbling with his scratchy voice and pointing to the restaurant. 

“No, we’re not stopping there. You just had mouth surgery. You can’t eat hamburgers.”

“Nooo…” Donald shook his head. He then tried his best to slowly enunciate what he’d already tried to say, but Scrooge was at a complete loss. 

“Can ye sign it for Della to translate?” he asked.

Donald groaned out of frustration and pushed Della off his shoulder to get her to look at him. He signed something, but Della just stared at him as though he’d sprouted a second head. Scrooge wondered if maybe she _was_ seeing a two-headed version of her brother, until at last she said: 

“Bwo… oo look _high.”_

Scrooge dissolved into a silent fit of laughter, covering his eyes with his hand and leaning against the armrest of the car door.

“Whuh dugs did oo _take?”_ Della asked, which Scrooge interpreted as, _What drugs did you take._ “Hugs! Not… dugs, Donol!” and she wrapped her arms around him.

Donald grumbled, but put his left arm around her and reached up to pat her head. Scrooge could tell that as annoyed as Donald was, he knew his sister's behavior wasn't her fault. When Scrooge managed to catch his breath, he removed his spectacles to wipe a tear from his eye and asked, “Why don’t ye try spelling it in sign language? I’ll do my best to guess.” Scrooge wasn’t entirely fluent in sign language, but he’d learned quite a bit from the twins over the years, including the alphabet… more or less. 

Donald sighed and held up his right hand to start signing letters.

“S?”

Donald shook his head.

“M?”

Donald nodded.

“Alright… M, I… L… K… S…? H… No, we’re not stopping for milkshakes. We have the ingredients at home. Beakley can make you a milkshake.” 

Donald shared one more sign with Scrooge that on any other day would’ve earned him a smacked hand and a month without television or video games, but Scrooge knew it was just the drugs talking… or in this case, signing. 

“Do that again an’ ye won’t be getting any milkshake at all. Is that what you want?”

This time Donald only groaned and rested his head against the window. Della was still leaning on him, and when he leaned to his right so suddenly, it loosened a blob of drool that had been steadily leaking out of her mouth, unnoticed by Scrooge. He didn’t see it until it was just about to fall on Donald’s shirt, and by then there was nothing Scrooge could do but make a mental note to take off Donald’s flannel when they got home.

Mrs. Beakley buzzed Duckworth through the gate and met them outside the front door to help Scrooge get the twins into the house. Della was particularly happy to see her.

“Missih B! I uv you, Missih B! Yer so nice ta ee… essep when yer mean.”

“Oh? And when am I mean?” she asked, helping Della up each step.

“You seh I couldin hab a sundae baffo bed. Tha’ was _mean!_ Tha’ was so mean, Missih B.”

“You’re right. I’m very sorry. You can have ice cream tonight.”

“‘Thay-you, dass all I wan’ in life.”

“Ice cream is all you want in life?”

“Yeah…”

“Her an’ Donald both, it seems,” Scrooge said as he started up the steps with an arm around his nephew and the plastic bag full of care items hanging off his other arm. “He was only just asking for a milkshake.”

“Let’s get them settled in first… they can have broth or scrambled eggs for lunch. I’ve also been pureeing fruits and vegetables all morning.”

“Ah, the new braces diet! Takes me back a few years, eh kids?”

“Do I hab baces?” Della asked, reaching for her bill.

“No, you do not have braces. And don’t touch your mouth!” Mrs. Beakley pulled Della’s hand away from her bill. 

“Ah ca’ feel mah face!” Della realized.

“No, but you’re going to. Come along. Spit-spot.”

Mrs. Beakley led them to the TV room, and it was clear she’d been doing a lot more than just pureeing fruits and vegetables. All the furniture had been rearranged. She’d taken the two red armchairs and a matching ottoman and fashioned a sort of second couch by placing the ottoman in the middle and pushing the two armchairs against it, and she arranged this and the actual couch to form a V that was angled so they could both watch television. She’d made up the couch with some clean spare navy blue sheets and had done the same for the armchairs with aqua sheets. Each makeshift bed had a pillow at the head and a blanket draped over the back. The coffee table ran between the two beds, and there were tissues, clean gauze, hand sanitizer, a pitcher of lukewarm water, and two glasses on it. She’d placed a wastebasket at the head of the coffee table, too for when the twins needed to throw away their gauze and any blood or drool-soaked tissues.

“Here you are, Della…” Mrs. Beakley seated Della on the ottoman and helped her get her legs onto one of the armchairs. 

“Good thinking putting her in the armchairs… I think she’d roll off without the armrests,” Scrooge said as he helped Donald get situated on the couch.

“My thoughts exactly. And if I recall correctly, Donald may need to have the freedom to grab the… ‘puking pan,’ off the floor at any given moment… so it made more sense to put him on the couch.”

The “puking pan,” was what Donald and Della had named the old three quart cooking pot that was never used for cooking anymore. These days it was kept in the medicine cabinet on the shelf beside the upset stomach medicine. Mrs. Beakley had placed it on the floor right by the couch for Donald.

Scrooge set the bag of care items on the coffee table and turned his attention back to his groggy nephew.

“Why’d oo put ee in a coffin?” Della asked behind him.

“Ye’re not in a coffin, Loopy Lass... ye’re in the armchairs,” Scrooge replied as he pulled Donald’s arms out of his flannel shirt so it could be washed.

“Whoa…” Della said. “Da ar’chairs like… joined forces…”

Donald gripped his arms and shivered with only his short-sleeved t-shirt on. Mrs. Beakley came around the back of the couch and put the blanket on him.

“Here, I just took this out of the dryer before you got home. It should be nice and warm.”

Donald signed “Thank you,” and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Scrooge held up the flannel. “I’m going to throw this in the laundry room.”

“What’s on it? Vomit, blood, or saliva?”

“Blood _and_ saliva… Della’s.”

“Whah?!” Donald sat up. “DELLA! …Ughh…” The sudden movement was too much for him though, and he grabbed his stomach and turned onto his side.

“Give him the pan!” Mrs. Beakley warned Scrooge. 

He picked it up by the handle and held it under Donald’s bill. 

“Why don’t I take his shirt so I can start on that stain before it sets?” she offered. “Then I can get to work on their lunches...” she glanced again at Donald. "...if they can stomach anything."

“Thank you,” he said, passing the shirt to her.

“And is that packet in the bag their care instructions?”

“It is.” Scrooge pulled it from the bag and handed it to her, as well, grateful she was more interested in helping him with the kids than Duckworth. He supposed that was the difference between an experienced mother and an old bachelor like his butler. 

Mrs. Beakley began scanning the first page. “It looks like they’re supposed to have ibuprofen soon so it’s in their systems before the drugs wear off… Do you think you can handle them like this on your own until I get back?”

“We did just fine in the car, didn’t we kids?”

“Look! Ah ca’ ahmose kick da ceiling!” Della demonstrated her perceived ability with one foot in the air.

“Oi! Don’t leave any marks on the ceiling or ye’re gonna hafte scrub them off!” he teased her. 

“Ah won’!”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Mrs. Beakley said as she headed to the laundry room.

Scrooge felt Donald’s forehead, and of course there was no fever. He didn’t expect there to be. It was just a habit of his when one of his kids looked this ill. Donald’s half-closed, unfocussed eyes were fixed on the puking pan and his bill was a pale and slightly greenish shade. 

“Gonna be alright, Lad?”

Donald’s groan echoed out of the pot.

“Ye were asking for a milkshake not a half-hour ago…”

Donald groaned louder, but it was quickly overshadowed by a scream from Della. Scrooge turned his head and saw her legs hanging off the edge of the ottoman between the armchairs.

“Ah fallee! Ah fallee!”

“Ye’re not falling! Here, Donald, can ye hold this a moment?”

Donald wrapped his arms around the pot while Scrooge went to rescue Della. She was on her stomach, gripping at the aqua sheet tucked around the cushions as the lower half of her body hung off the middle of the side of her temporary bed.

“Ye see, this is what happens when ye try te kick the ceiling,” Scrooge said, helping her get resituated. “There… now try not to roll off again.”

At that moment, Donald wretched behind him.

“Of course…”

Scrooge had to flush out Donald’s mouth using water from the pitcher and a syringe from the bag. Then he called Duckworth in to take care of the pot of water and vomit while he fixed Donald up with some clean gauze. 

“Will ye be ready for some lunch d’ye think?” he asked as he rubbed in hand sanitizer. 

“Uggghhh…”

It had to have been frustrating for Donald. He struggled every day to make himself understood. Now, when he most needed to be able to communicate how he felt, he couldn’t at all. His mouth was torn up. His brain was foggy. And to top it all off, his sign language interpreter was... currently useless. 

“Unko Skooge, I can’t slee… buh-cracks ah in’aiding my dreass…” she whined.

“Did… did you just say butt-cracks are invading your dreams?” Scrooge asked in disbelief.

“Uh-huh…”

“Well… that’s terribly disturbing. Best to stay awake, then. D’ye want me to turn on the telly?”

“Noooo I wanna sleeeee…”

“But Beakley will be in with your food in just a minute.”

“Food?” Della propped herself up on her elbows, suddenly much more awake. “I li’e food.”

“I know ye do. D’ye think ye can eat it without makin’ a mess?”

Her eyes grew wide and she shook her head. “Aw, dude… no ‘ommisses.”

“Just do your best. You too, Donald.”

“Ughh…”

“I know, but ye need to eat so you can take some ibuprofen before the anesthesia wears off. Best to stay on top of your pain medicine after surgery.”

‘Ane medsih is fo ‘anzies!” Della declared.

“‘Pain medicine is for pansies,’ ye say?”

“Yeah!”

“Well guess what?”

“Whuh?”

“For the next few days, you get to be a pansy.”

It wasn’t much longer before Mrs. Beakley returned with a tray containing two small bowls of broth, another two small bowls of mashed potatoes, two glasses half-full of apple juice, and a bottle of ibuprofen.

“They’re supposed to have eight-hundred milligrams of ibuprofen each, every six hours,” Mrs. Beakley said as she set the tray on the coffee table. “The prescription pain medicine is as needed, if the ibuprofen doesn’t do its job.”

“Eight-hundred milligrams?!” Scrooge grabbed the bottle off the tray. “Why that’s… four at once! And every six hours?! Are they tryin’ te give them ulcers?!” 

“My daughter had to take just as much when she had her wisdom teeth out, and she was perfectly alright.”

“Yes, but it’s _them_ we’re talking about…” Scrooge muttered between gritted teeth so the teens wouldn’t hear.

If anyone in the world would have a negative reaction to doing exactly what the doctors said, it was the Duck twins.

“We’ll just have to keep an eye on them and make sure they take it with food,” Mrs. Beakley said.

Donald pointed at one of the glasses of apple juice with a noise that seemed to end in a question mark. 

“Ready for some apple juice?” Scrooge asked him.

Donald nodded, so Scrooge helped him sit up partially and had him take out his gauze. Then he brought the glass up to Donald’s bill to help him drink. After only his first swallow, however, Donald sat upright and screamed with his mouth shut, pressing his hands against the back corners of his bill. 

“Bruh-er?” Della sat up and leaned over the armrest that had been blocking her view.

“What’s wrong?!” Scrooge asked.

Donald pointed to the bottle of ibuprofen. 

“Have him take the full dose!” Mrs. Beakley told Scrooge.

“But he hasnae eaten anything!” 

“Just make sure he eats everything afterwards! And start with the mashed potatoes! He’ll need solid food!”

Donald was breathing heavily and leaning forward, still holding on to his face and groaning. Della was reaching for him. By the time Scrooge managed to pour four pills out onto his palm, Donald’s eyes were watering. 

“Beakley, pass me a glass of water!” he said, but before she could, Donald snatched all four pills out of Scrooge’s hand. Scrooge watched in amazement as he swallowed them all without any water.

“Here, wash them down,” Mrs. Beakley stepped forward with a glass and Donald flinched away from her.

“It’s from the same pitcher as the water I used to flush out your gums just a bit ago,” Scrooge said. “It won’t hurt ye.”

Donald submitted to Mrs. Beakley bringing the glass to his mouth, and after a few swallows, he put his hand on hers to let her know he’d had enough to drink.

“Bwother?”

Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley noticed for the first time that Della was reaching for Donald.

“Awww… sister’s worried about you,” Scrooge pointed out to him. 

Donald was still breathing heavily and holding his face in his hands, but when he saw Della’s hand, he tried to grab it. They missed each other a few times until Scrooge took their hands and put them together.

“What just happened?” Scrooge asked. “And should I be concerned that my teenager is that good at popping pills?”

“Just be glad of it for now… it could be the cold temperature of the juice irritated his gums. Strange… I could have sworn I gave my daughter a glass of juice straight out of the refrigerator when she came home from her surgery and that didn’t happen to her… no, I definitely did. She dribbled grape juice on her shirt and I had quite a time trying to remove the stain. But it didn’t make her local anesthesia wear off.”

“Remember who we’re dealing with, here.” Scrooge said.

“True… well, now that he’s calm, best make sure he eats his potatoes.”

Scrooge turned back to his nephew and saw that his breathing had returned to normal and he was no longer holding his face. Della was stroking the back of his hand with her thumb as she held it.

“Iss okay, Bwo,” she said. 

“What a good sister ye are, Lass,” Scrooge praised her as he reached for one of the bowls of mashed potatoes. “Now it’s time for brother to have some lunch, and Mrs. Beakley can help you with yours so you can have your medicine, too.”

And so, Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley each helped a patient with their lunch. Donald was far more lucid than Della, so Scrooge had the easier task… especially when Donald’s lip became tingly. Starting to feel it again meant he could tell when the spoon had reached his mouth. Della was a bit more of a challenge. Since she wasn’t allowed to drink her apple juice until it reached room temperature, her gums didn’t experience the same rude awakening that had caused her brother so much pain. Her lips remained numb, as well. Mrs. Beakley thought it was like trying to feed a baby in a babbling mood. She had to hold the bowl directly under Della’s bill because she wouldn’t stop speaking nonsensically. But at last, both teens were fed and had their ibuprofen, and neither felt queasy. Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley rinsed out their mouths and gave them new gauze, held ice packs to their faces for twenty minutes, and left them alone to rest. 

A half hour later, Scrooge returned to the TV room to check on them and see if they’d fallen asleep. He found Della sitting up halfway and crying. Donald was sitting on the ottoman, and it sounded as though he were saying, “Della, you’re fine.”

“What’s the matter with _you?”_ Scrooge asked her in a high voice, as though he were talking to a crying baby. “And how did you get over here?” he asked Donald with his normal voice.

“Li’e dis,” he replied, standing up and using the armrest and edge of the coffee table to guide himself back to the couch. He was still a little wobbly, but aware enough to know to use the furniture to support himself. 

“Well done, Lad! But eh… what’s wrong with yer sister?”

Donald gestured to her in a see-for-yourself kind of way, and Scrooge sat down on the other side of the ottoman. 

“What’s the matter, Della? Does your mouth hurt?”

Della shook her head. “Da mahshins stow my appos…” she wept.

“…Come again?”

“Da mahshins, stow, my appols!”

“The Martians stole your apples…?”

To his surprise, Della nodded. He’d guessed right. He looked over at Donald, who shrugged with his hands up and shook his head.

“An’ now… my unicorn won’ sing ta ee… See’s ma’ b’cause ah let da mahshins tay my appos…”

“Your unicorn’s mad because the Martians took your apples?” he asked slowly.

“Yeeaahhhh…” Della whined in a much higher pitch. “See won’ sing ta ee…”

“…And she won’t sing to ye. Right. Well, that’s a bit rude of her after the day you’ve had. Would ye like me to sing to ye?”

Della sniffled and nodded with her big glossy eyes and pouty lip, and for a moment she didn’t seem all that different from the five-year-old orphan who wound up on his doorstep all those years ago.

Scrooge grabbed the blanket Mrs. Beakley had draped over the back of the armchair at the foot of Della’s makeshift bed and unfolded it. “Alright, now this is a blanket, ye understand? I’m just going te put a blanket on ye… it’s not a spider, or a Martian, or any other creature, alright?”

Della nodded again and Scrooge draped the blanket over her and tucked it around her shoulders as he started to sing: 

“Come Josephine, in my flying machine  
and it’s up, she goes… up, she goes…  
Balance yourself like a bird on a beam;  
in the air she goes… there, she goes…  
Up, up, a little bit higher,  
oh, my! The Moon is on fire.  
Come Josephine in my flying machine  
going up, all on, goodbye…”

Della had stopped crying as he sung the familiar chorus. She clumsily wiped her eyes and yawned. 

“Unko Skooge?”

“Yes?”

“Ca’ we hab ice-keem on da Moon?”

Scrooge chuckled. “Not on the Moon, but how about here in the TV room later?”

Della nodded. “Uh-kay…” 

“Okay. Try to get some rest, now.”

Donald was already lying on his side with his blanket over him again.

“And how’s your mouth, on a scale from one to ten?”

Donald held up four fingers.

“Not too terrible, then… sleep through it, as best ye can. I’ll be in to check on ye in another half hour.”

Donald nodded against his pillow and closed his eyes. 

Scrooge looked back and forth between his kids, both resting with their eyes closed, and wondered when they’d gotten so big. 

_“Unca Scrooge! Unca Scrooge! I lost a tooth!”_ he remembered Della scampering into his study, holding her bottom incisor aloft to show him. _“And then blood came out, and Donald got dizzy, so now Duckworth’s letting him watch TV until he feels all better.”_

And then Scrooge blinked.

And now they were only a few months shy of their eighteenth birthday. 

Before nostalgia could overtake him, he made his way to the doors and shut them softly behind him.

“Hehe… Martians… stealing apples…” he chuckled to himself. “I should really write these things down.”

**Author's Note:**

> So the line, "My squid brethren!" was from the time my roommate had her wisdom teeth out. She said she looked up at some clouds and could have sworn they were flying squids, so she cried out, "My squid brethren!" thinking, "I must join them!"  
> "So I found out I can't have Vicodin," she said as we were randomly swapping wisdom teeth extraction stories right after moving in together.
> 
> But I thought she could do Advil, right? So after a few months, she got cramps, and I gave her two Advil before bed, which was the dose I used to take when I could tolerate NSAIDs. She became really talkative but promised she'd be quiet so our other roommate and I could sleep. After a while I heard a weird noise and I looked up at her bunk and she was bouncing her leg up and down and I asked her "Whatcha doin'?" and she said in a southern accent, "My toes are full of fro-yo and I can't get it out!"  
> She apologized and promised again she'd go to sleep, and I told her, "I can't even be mad. This is hilarious."  
> The next morning she read me some texts she'd sent a friend, including: "Can we have ice cream on the Moon?" "Martians stole my apples and now my unicorn won't sing to me. She's mad because I let the Martians take my apples," and "Butt-cracks are invading my dreams."
> 
> Some of Donald's stuff was based on me when I had my wisdom teeth out. I didn't flip anyone off, but my mom did give me a glass of Ocean Spray to take my four Advil pills and as soon as that cold juice hit my gums it was like the anesthesia was GONE. All the pain, all at once. I grabbed the rest of the Advil out of my mom's hand and swallowed them without water, and my mom, who hates swallowing pills, was super impressed.


End file.
